


Nice View

by frodo_stole_my_ring



Series: highlander oneshots [1]
Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: M/M, Methos is OLD, POV Second Person, Pre-Relationship, Well - Freeform, just me thinking about stuff, no beta we die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:00:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29413782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frodo_stole_my_ring/pseuds/frodo_stole_my_ring
Summary: aka two useless old men flirting (and also existentialism)
Relationships: Joe Dawson/Methos (Highlander)
Series: highlander oneshots [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2160753
Kudos: 9





	Nice View

You want to believe that you can see the time on his face.

Always he's handling antiques like a teen handles their phone; deftly and maddeningly callous entirely disregarding the worth. It drives Duncan to near violence whenever he's nearby. But He just laughs it off, easy and light. Eyes inviting them to another verbal sparring. And really, that's what he's always doing, having fun. Making the time pass, you suspect. 

He was raised in an age where the passage of time was counted in the winters you survived. But even that you're not sure about. You haven't talked about this with him yet, but recently foreign archeologists made a new discovery, some ruins somewhere, oldest yet, it seems. It wasn't in the news, not even the old school newspapers. These days, they're all filled with the latest catastrophes, not the latest discoveries. Or maybe they always have been. He would know. You could even ask, but you won't.

He comes by every so often, whenever he sees fit. You could almost fool yourself into believing it to be friendship. You talk about the beer, the band that's playing tonight, have you ever heard of them before? you ask. He shakes his head, no, are you implying I'm omniscient, Joe? You laugh together, but still you're not sure. These days, you're never sure about anything. Maybe you never were. You could almost fool yourself into believing it to be friendship, but too many times you get the feeling that he's only with you to be entertained. 

When the bar is closed, and it's just him and you sitting with two beers in comfortable silence and low light, you ask if he's seen the hands that cast the shadows, yet? It's a joke, a smart reference to the famous allegory, you think, about the cave and men who never knew more than the shadows dancing on the walls. And there's a million ways the conversation can go, and for a moment you think you can imagine them all: He goes off on an elaborate explanation of existentialism, of the earthly and the heavenly. He doesn't answer. He feigns ignorance.

Instead he laughs, takes a swig of his beer, places it, and you think chameleon. This time he's the young student, the Adam you know him the best as. Or more accurately, the Adam you discovered to be the oldest. And the Adam who is also the oldest says, how could I possibly have spotted the hands that cast the shadows? I've been bound to this wall longer than you, I become more grounded in this reality for every day that passes. You think, what a load of bull, and then you say it. He laughs again.

Suddenly he stops. A green bottle stands abandoned on the table between you and him. He asks if you've heard about the ruins on the other side of the ocean? The new old ones, he elaborates with a soft huff. You nod quietly, unsure which direction he's pulling the conversation in now. You turn towards him, his eyes are downcast. Do you happen to know anyone involved? An arm shoots out to grab the beer, he looks at you, eyes filled with nothing but light curiosity, lips quirking a bit.

You hesitate, his is a dangerous game to play along with, no sadly I don't, you answer ruefully, scratching your beard. Leaning back into the uncomfortable chair once more, he heaves a deep sigh. You want to ask, but you won't. You return to nursing your dark malt. Time passes.

How do you find the shadows, Joe? The question catches you off guard. You pause, pursing your lips, thinking, feeling his eyes stare intently, belying his careless sprawl on the chair. To be completely honest with you, I've never really understood that allegory, you admit. You smile, as that wrangles a surprised bark of laughter out of him. It's something about heaven and earth, you rant, and god I've had enough of that from the young and hopeful watchers still wet behind their ears at the academy! Damn, how their mouths don't need rocket fuel to run that fast is past me!

Amen to that! he exclaims, smiling fondly at you, a now-empty bottle plonks down to underline the words. You share a laugh.

Why haven't you tried getting out of the cave, then? You ask after a bit, standing and walking towards the bar. With your back to him like this, you can't read the expression behind the quiet. 

Maybe it's because the view is so nice, he explains, voice unexpectedly cheery. You tell him looking at some shadows on the wall isn't really your idea of a nice view, as you reach behind the counter to grab another bottle of beer. 

Joe, perhaps by saying 'nice view' I was referring to you, he taunts.

You throw the bottle at him.

You want to believe that you can see the time on his face, but you can't.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading my rambling oneshot! these are the sort of things that come into existence whenever u cant sleep, i realise at some points the observations can b a bit on the nose but my sleep deprived brain couldnt come up with a better way to write it so my waking brain surely cant either


End file.
